Fall of an Empire
by TearStainedAngel24
Summary: Something broke, and he realized it would be the last time he would see any of the faces in the room for a long, long time. Character death, UsUk if you will, though it could be just brotherly, gory.


**A/N: Wrote this while reflecting on the dissolution of the British Empire. As such, it is quite sad and angsty...UsUk if you will, though it can be just brotherly.**

He was dying.

Britain could feel it in his bones. His country's hold on the world was getting weaker and weaker with each passing day as his empire slipped away like sand in an hour glass. His politics were struggling to get through. The riots that had caused him such agony, for they had targeted London, were just another example of how the youth was rebelling in every which way possible. He felt his industry utterly failing, and the government lace itself with lies and empty promises. Also, the bankruptcy of areas of the euro-zone and England itself bringing him down every day was not helping the dire situation either. It was only a matter of time before the country fell altogether and collapsed in on itself. Imagine, what had once been the greatest empire of its time was now limited to a few islands. But all empires had to fall, and since the crash of Rome it had been clear; the higher you rose, the farther you fell. That would be very painful and the Brit dreaded to think about it. Headaches and dizziness were becoming a regular occurrence, along with cramps and sickness. He hadn't eaten in over a week, for he felt like he was too sick to stomach food.

The other countries knew somewhat of the major issue that was happening, but they didn't even know the tip of the iceberg. He had managed to keep that a secret from the rest of the world. They just thought it was a little unrest; nothing the nation couldn't get over by himself. This was why England was currently at a G8 meeting in America, wearing a baggy jacket, which covered his emaciated state, and long pants. This wasn't given a second thought by any of the countries, even though it was pretty warm. No one noticed how pale he looked, or how he said nothing during the meeting. If they had looked, they might have seen how overly defined his cheekbones were. No one cared enough about the once great nation; no one gave a second glance. They were all too busy in their little bickering groups to notice that he wasn't joining in like he normally did. They just didn't care enough to look twice.

England, however, was struck by a horrific realization half way through. This would be his last meeting. Something had just gone horribly, terribly wrong. Oh, so wrong. He could feel it, like wasps buzzing around in his head, bones, and stomach, and it made him want to vomit blood. The meeting ended early, as per usual, and England was the last to leave, his breathing labored and his head pounding. Once again, the other countries failed to notice the odd behavior. Feeling himself get hotter with each passing second, he walked down some remote hallway in search of a quite place to get some air. However, the heat became unbearable and he took off his jacket, showing his bony structure to anyone who cared to look. Suddenly exhausted, he opted to lean against a wall and catch his breath.

That was when it hit him. It was like a sword to his stomach, sending pain racing through him and making him double up. He had never experienced something quite like this pain before. It was different, it didn't feel exactly like a flesh wound; it almost seemed to come from the inside out. A second hit wracked his body and he groaned, leaning harder against the wall. He felt his legs weaken even more under him, turning to jelly. The third was the worst so far, making it feel like someone was grabbing his heart and twisting it out. He slumped down, a moan escaping and blood coming to his mouth and trickling down his chin. Bloody hell that hurt. He was sick to his stomach, weak, and in awful pain.

Then the forth one hit him.

He couldn't help it; he let out a screech and clutched at his chest, fiery pain racing through it. His body spasmed again, cutting off his wail with more pain. He let out a cough, blood splattering from his mouth where it was still open in a silent cry for help. He head hit the wall and he began to cry. How much longer would it take for him to die?

Meanwhile, America had been thankfully waving France off when he heard a screech. Thinking that Russia had gotten someone, or perhaps someone had fallen, he raced off to the rescue like a hero would (of course, he forgot he had watched Russia leave). He padded through the house, ears pricked in hope of finding the location of the pained sound. A cough gave away the owners position, in a random hallway. Running around the hallway, he was meant with a gory scene. England with his head tilted back and blood dripping from the corners of his mouth.

"Oh god-dude, you alright!" America questioned as he ran to the Brit's side, utterly confused. The Englishman just gave a weak smile.

"N-no, you bloody g-git." he groaned. America was beginning to panic. What the hell was going on? He held the weakened nation in his arms, and realized just how thin, just how light he really was, just how dull those emeralds were. He looked at the sweatshirt that had been covering the anorexic state the country was currently in. It wasn't right that England felt so…frail in his arms. His voice was now so weak. That was, until the island nation let out a scream and writhed around in his arms, panting feverishly. America was on the boarder of hysteria now, horrified at the sight his was holding.

"England, dude, what's goin' on! Tell me, what do I do, what can I do, please, let me help you!" America begged England, tears forming in his eyes. The British man just growled.

"Nothing. I'm dying, America. I'll be gone before the day is over." The news hit the blue-eyed nation like a bullet. E-England was…dying? Was that even possible? America stared in horror as the blonde in his arms coughed and shook violently, crimson staining his uniform. His breaths were getting shorter and more labored. Tears dripped from the larger nation's eyes.

"Dude, you can't be dying! You're the 'United bloody Kingdom'!" he yelped, using England own term for himself. "You don't just die! You conquered the world!" the American looked down. "You conquered me." He muttered. England just narrowed his eyes.

"Exactly. And they all did what you did; tore away and left me to die." America was about to interrupt, but England just plowed through. "My empire was taken away from me piece by piece. The island is all I have left. And now, that is in disarray too. No market, riots, no money. Something has happened and it's finally collapsed." the Brit let out a sigh. "And I...am finally dying." he finished his hoarse-spoken speech with other shot of pain. It was weaker, as his senses were slowly fading. He thought he felt something soggy hit him on his cheek. Looking up, he realized that something wet had fallen on his face.

America had tears running down his face. All this time, England had been suffering, and no one did anything about it. He had done nothing about it. He was supposed to be the hero, damn it! Knowing the others, they would probably just take over the island now it was in disarray, disregarding England and calling it their own. And it was partly his fault. He wouldn't give up his freedom for anything, but...he never wanted England to actually die. Anything but this.

"H-hey, you git. Don't cry. You will be fine, you're strong. I brought you up." England said sternly, even though his voice was waving and cracking. A small thought flitted through his head, like a sparrow in a bush. But as soon as it was there, he knew he had to voice it.

"America...don't let my memory die. Make sure you're country's children know all about England and America, and the revolution. Make sure they know that we once ruled the seas. Make sure the know that we fell, but not before we had a good run." America was speechless, before nodding. England smiled slightly.

"Th-thank you. It is much apprecia-" England was cut off as pain rippled through his body, tearing him apart from the inside. He felt old scars open up freshly, blood seeping from wounds he thought were healed. Gritting his teeth, he clung to America, sobbing and shaking. America clutched him back, trying to be strong and not cry any more.

"A-America...stay golden, America." England stammered out painfully, blood dripping down his back and more of the dark red substance dripped from his mouth. Stay gold; just like that poem America had always seemed to love ever since it had been written. The larger nation holding him kissed his forehead, and stammered something out that the Brit only just managed to hear before another jolt went through him.

"I...I promise...I'll be strong for you, England." the green-eyed blonde just smiled faintly before letting out a piercing scream as the last of what was left of his life was torn away from him.

Everything went dark, and he could only feel the agony of having his insides ripped apart and his very soul smashed and scattered. America was force to watch as blood began to drip from England's widened eyes, and listen to his scream as it continued to pierce the early dusk. The pain continued for England, and the only comfort was the vague feeling that he was being held. After what seemed like an eternity, England choked on his own blood where his screaming had rubbed his throat raw. This cut off his voice, and finally the pain faded to nothing. The former empires' body relaxed in America's arms, and then England was no more. Something green fell from his pocket, a beautiful emerald, the same colour as his eyes, which he carried with him as a reminder of his pirate days.

America just placed the Brit's broken and bloody body on the floor and held the emerald to his heart. It was warm and fit neatly into his palm. In utter misery, he tilted his head back and wept for his lost brother and father.

**A/N: Yeah…not the happiest thing I've ever written. In case you're wondering, England is pretty bad now a days, and pretty weak too. It's sad to see my mother country in such disarray. The riots in the summer of 2011 were just a reminder of how out of control it's getting. I was actually in England when that happened, and it was terrifying. Oh God, you should have seen the smoke and the utter air of…abandonment that the whole place had to it…Also, the poem is called, "Nothing Gold can Stay". All my classmates will get that, but if you've never heard of it, look it up, it's quite good.  
**


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